Just The Way Things Are
by Alone in a New Place
Summary: When Mu gets transfered off at Alaska: the morning of and the night before. [slight MuMurrue] Bad summary again


Remember that story of mine, 'As He Waved Goodbye'? Well, I got my inspiration for _this_ while trying to find inspiration for Mu's one of _that_. So they have to deal with the same thing. Plus, I don't know exactly why, but somewhere in GS, Mu says "That's just the way things are" and it's stuck with me for some very odd reason.

Ever wonder why I never put all these one-shots into one big collection of 'em? I certainly have no idea why not. I want to do another big story though--just waiting for inspiration . . .

Also beware of a lot of out-of-character-ness . . . yeah. (especially near the middle there-ack)

* * *

Murrue Ramius leaned over in her chair, resting her head on her arms in a sigh. The silence in her Captain's quarters did nothing for her emotions. 

They had just gotten word that day, right after that incriminating inquiry. . . . Commander LaFlaga and Lieutenant Badgiruel were going to be transferred off. Flay was being transferred off too, but Murrue had to admit that the redhead wasn't the one she was thinking about the most.

Yes, there was them, but another though weighed heavily on her mind. 'What would happen?' _That_ was what she thought about most in the silence, but only to push away the reason behind it. . . . Their leaving . . .

A familiar voice pulled her out of her miserable reverie.

"Oh, hey, Captain." It was _his_. "Got a minute?" Mu cocked his head as he stood, leaning slightly in the doorway. He hadn't even bothered to knock. Murrue kept the smile off her face, replacing it with a Captain's appraising glare.

"Are you done packing?"

Murrue found out—the absolute wrong thing to ask.

His dashing face instantly faltered, the smile flickering, eyes weakening. He even seemed to stand heavier, like there was another weight to his shoulders. But he regained another smile, like nothing had changed.

"No, not really . . ."

Murrue tried to cover up her surprise at his quick change by another question. "Well . . . did you even _start_?"

His avoidant eyes and awkward silence spoke more than words.

"_Commander_," Murrue huffed scolding, "And _when_ do you expect to pack? You're leaving fairly early tomorrow, remember."

Mu laughed, his joking retort at the ready.

"It's not like I have anything to pack in the first place, Captain." He smiled. "—I didn't really transfer here if you so recall, I just landed here." Mu shrugged casually. "What is there to take away when I didn't come with anything?" He grinned again, winning.

The Captain narrowed her eyes.

"Do you need me to show you, Commander?" Murrue shot back flatly.

"Could you?" Murrue blinked in shock, but Mu kept grinning. "'Cause I honestly can't see them, Captain."

Murrue's amber eyes narrowed, hard and sharp. She wasn't in the mood for his jokes. Not at that time.

But he didn't laugh. His blue eyes held all seriousness as he held out his hand to her. She wanted to cock her head, to try to find an angle she'd missed. If it was a joke, it was a very real one.

". . . Fine," she finally sighed, pushing herself from her chair. She knew he wouldn't leave her alone until she accepted anyway. But when she stood up, instead of walking to him, towards the door, Murrue made her way to a cabinet in the back of her quarters. Mu watched intently as she spoke to him while fidgeting with the door.

"Tomorrow's full dress you know," she reminded him sternly, head hidden behind the open door. Mu shrugged, still confused.

"Yeah, so?"

"I meant _full_ dress," she told him again, appearing from the cabinet, holding it out. A slight smile came to her lips as she watched his eyes widen in surprise. She held out an officer's cap. "Do you know where yours is?"

Mu shook his head slowly, eyes still glued to the white uniform piece.

"Thought so," Murrue sighed lightly, passing the cap into Mu's thick hands. "Here, take this. This'll keep you until they re-issue your uniform. It's not mine, or anything, I've never worn it."

Mu cocked his head in confusion. Why was she telling him?

"But why would you have it?" He wondered aloud, slight grin to his face. Murrue smiled.

"We're lucky this ship had a full uniform stock when it left Heliopolis. That's where all yours came from, too, I believe." She lifted her shoulders a bit when she lightly sighed. "Wish I could have said the same thing about the _immediate_ supplies, though . . ."

They both smiled at the thought, Mu having to keep down a laugh.

-----

Back in his quarters, the duffel bag Mu was lucky enough to 'borrow' from one of the other crew members lay open and empty on a table. He scratched at his head, running his fingers through his hair, looking around the empty room.

"See, Captain? I _told_ you there was nothing to pack."

Mu's smug grin didn't vanish when Murrue glanced about the room. Her hands found her hips in frustration.—He really _didn't_ have much to take.

Except . . .

"Except all your uniforms, Commander," Murrue shot back coolly.

"Aw, come on," he tried, "It's not like they wont give me more."

"You never know, do you?" She huffed slightly. "Come on, bring your uniforms out so we can get them in the bag." It was Mu's turn to huff in annoyance as he went to gather the regulated fabric. "We both need to sleep, remember?" She reminded him stiffly.

"We can sleep tomorrow," he sheepishly grinned, dropping the uniforms into a pile before her. "I know they were all just washed and all, but the folding part . . ."

Murrue sighed, trying hard to keep off the urge to palm her face in exasperation. Part of her realized that Mu knew all he had to pack were his uniforms but that he just didn't want to fold them all himself. Another part of her wondered, if she didn't come with him to help, what would he have done.

"Let's get this over with," she sighed lightly, picking up a pair of his pants to begin folding.

After a bit of labor, everything was folded, and a lot had been tucked away inside the duffel. The ones the two officers knew _wouldn't_ fit inside the small bag were already put away for storage. There were with only a few more left destined to go inside the shoulder bag.

Barely a word had been spoken—neither knowing what to say. Mu had tried starting up conversations, the silence bugging him, but each attempt fell flat.

"Hey, Captain, look at the time. We got through this all real quick, didn't we?"

She didn't say anything, she didn't even look up. Eyes focused on the belt she was placing in his back, she finally said it. What she'd been wanting to say.

"Why . . . ?"

Mu blinked.

"Hm?"

Murrue softly sighed once more, trying to find the escaping words. "_Why_?—Why is it _you_ have to go?"

Mu was stunned. He set down his last folded jacket to stare into her turned away face.

"Captain . . ." His heart had started to pound faster. He had wanted a conversation, but not one so . . .

It didn't matter, the Captain standing beside him wouldn't let it go.

"—I mean—You're one of our best pilots!" She pushed finally out, a bit ragged with delivery.

Murrue's thin fingers clenched around the belt she still hadn't put down.

So even she was worked up about it all, he realized—but it seemed for a different reason.

". . . You're the only one, actually," she muttered quietly, finally dropping the belt into his bag, eyes still not meeting the waiting Commander beside her.

Mu's eyes widened when she spoke again, voice soft and quiet, pensive. "How can they expect us to make it through without you?"

Mu knew that the way she said it, it meant 'without a _pilot_, how will their battles turn out?' but to him—and his heart—he desperately wanted to keep it _out_ of context, with her just saying 'without _you_ . . .'

He childishly let his heart and mind run away with the idea.

Murrue stared at him, intriguingly confused. She had expected at least a word or two from him in return.

—Mu LaFlaga was the man she knew who never seemed to run out of words.—

And that question . . . that question was one she needed answered and answered by _him_. She had finally brought it up, and yet . . .

She thought maybe he hadn't heard her before, but the truth was he had heard every word. That was what made his eyes distant for the one off-balanced moment.

She asked again, but he cut her off.

"Very easily," he finally said. He looked into her face smiling, grinning. "You'll make it through very easily. You're the Captain after all. You'll be just fine."

He turned back to work the last jacket needed in the bag before it was done.

"I'll be gone and you'll be fine. That's just the way things are."

Murrue felt the breath she didn't know she'd been holding leave her at his reassuring words. She'd been wanting an answer—and he had given her one, but part of her felt _it_ in his voice. It seemed . . . hollow for some reason.

Glancing over at the man, Murrue had to hold in a laugh. Brow furrowed in determination, Mu had become increasingly frustrated at the last uniform jacket that had failed to fit. He had begun angrily trying to stuff it in instead, messing everything else up in the process.

"Here," Murrue smiled calmly, gently pulling the wrung jacket from his thick hands. "Like this."

Mu watched, struggling to keep the awe from his eyes as Murrue lost her look of a soldier to him, if only for a moment, and looked more like a mother, folding laundry, with a soft smile and tune to her lips.

That mother turned back into a Captain as she laid the jacket inside the duffel gently. She glanced back up at Mu's watching eyes.

Under her hot gaze, his hand found that spot at the back of his neck. He laughed sheepishly at his previous inability to do such a simple task.

"Th-thanks."

"Learn to do it right, Commander. Okay?" Murrue faintly teased beneath her strong, scolding tone. With a huff, the Captain glanced around the empty room. "What's next?"

"Nothing." She didn't know why, but his response shocked her. Murrue glanced back up at him, as if waiting for more.

But he just shrugged. "See? All done."

It was silent for a moment, Murrue running over in her mind anything else needed.

"Oh, what about your flight suit?" She brought up, much to Mu's displeasure. "Shouldn't that be packed away as well?"

"No." The laugh he'd just shared before became only a distant memory as he felt his heart drop farther. "Leave it here for your next big-shot pilot."

Murrue cocked her head.

"But isn't it your signature suit?"

"Yes, but I don't need it," he weakly smiled, turning around to his duffel, unable to look at her quizzing eyes anymore.

"But," she urged, "it's your—"

"I won't _need_ it," Mu cut in harshly. "—Not where I'm going, Captain."

His voice was slightly crueler to her kindness than he meant it to be. It softened a bit as he gripped his bag. ". . . Remember? Instruction? . . . Leave it here."

It was silent.

It wasn't hard to tell why.

With his back to her and the door, he went on fiddling around with the full duffel, finally zipping it shut, the slow hiss in the silence sounding as if the closing of their time together as well.

Mu stared down, unable to turn around. He wondered why he couldn't face her and why she couldn't just say something to make him turn around.

But, with that misdirected anger, it was over. Murrue knew it too.

"Well . . . I see you're done packing, Commander," Murrue started, voice equally strict and ordering—like a Captain's should be.

Mu felt his chest tighten. With his back still turned to her, all he could hear was her hard voice.

Why, why did it all sound to terribly choked up now?

"—Hopefully you'll arrive on time for your transfer tomorrow. . . ." she said, voice softening even with the struggle of keeping it hard, powerful, cold.

She couldn't break down then. Not with what just happened. ". . . Wouldn't want you to miss it. . . ."

Mu froze.

In her voice, was he imagining it? Could he really hear . . . Could there really be . . . a tear?

He wanted to turn around, to face her—to _see_ . . . but his body held him back. Part of him didn't want to move, didn't want to see—didn't want to _know_ if he was wrong, even if it meant being right.

Her voice came again, cutting through the awkward silence of the room. He could even imagine her strengthening salute.

"Till then . . . Sir."

Mu felt his hands clench, gripping the duffel set before him. He _had_ to turn around before—The sound of the door sliding closed jolted his reality.

He finally wrenched himself away, to spin around and face her. He even called out her name in his rush—"_Murrue_ . . . !"

But Mu felt all of his breath leave him in an instant.

He was too late. The door was already closed.

She didn't hear him. She was gone.

He couldn't tell her.

And that's just the way things are.

With a heavy sigh, heart dropping, Mu fell back onto his bed, the less-than-comfortable mattress giving beneath him.

"God damn it all. . . ."

Rubbing at his eyes tiredly, he thought back to what he wanted to say.

". . . Murrue . . ."

-----

Mu woke to the annoying buzz of an alarm. He sleepily pushed himself out of bed, but instead of rushing to turn the alarm clock off, he just stared at it, quizzical. He rarely heard his alarm—he usually woke up naturally, and before the set time too. He usually turned off the alarm before it even sounded. So, why now . . . ?

His eyes caught the crumpled remnants of yesterday's uniform scattered across the floor. Yawning, Mu pulled himself from bed, running fingers through his thick, tousled hair.

As was routine, Mu took a big, long stretch, groaning slightly as he did so. He shuffled across the room, picking up the scattered clothes. After surveying the day-before's damage on his uniform, he decided it wasn't bad at all and slid the wrinkled EA jacket over his shoulders, making sure the sleeves were just the way he liked them. As was routine.

The same for his pants and the rest of his casual, comfy uniform.

Mu glanced in the mirror. His hair wasn't too messy from sleep and it was presentable enough, so he didn't bother to comb it and just patted it down in some places to make it look a bit neater.

There. Done.

Mu smiled. _Time to go._

He went to flick off the lights, but faltered. The duffel had caught his eye. He had missed it before. The one he and Murrue had packed together the night before. The reason came back, hitting hard.

_Oh, that's right . . . That transfer's today, isn't it?_

Mu pulled himself back into his quarters and quietly stared down that bag. It symbolized everything about that day.

_And I'm leaving . . . aren't I . . . ?_

Mu caught his reflection in the mirror across the way, his wrinkled, messy uniform blaring obvious. His hair too. Now he could easily see how chaotic it was, falling all over his face, the disheveled waves anything but presentable.

At times before that appearance worked—not mattering at all, his laziness at times not mattering. But now . . . It wouldn't at all anymore, because he was transferring. Transferring away.

Murrue's words came to him.

'_Why . . . ?'_

Mu walked over to his duffel and slowly opened it. The sight of the neatly folded uniforms tucked away was a difficult scene to bear. His hands ran over one of the jackets, gathering the stiff cloth and pulling it out before him.

"Because that's just the way things are," he muttered darkly looking at the pristine uniform he was expected to wear.

With a slow defeated sigh, Mu shrugged off his own jacket and let it pool on the floor.

As he slowly pulled on his new uniform, the strong clean smell of it hurt his senses, the pristine fabric itchy against his skin. The problem was, it wasn't a _new_ uniform—he'd worn it several times before and he'd cleaned all his uniforms many more times than that. So why then did it become so distressing to wear at that moment?

It was because he knew _why_ he had to wear it. He had to wear this neat, folded jacket and crisp, straight pants because casualness was to be lost, formality always key—when he left it, left them, left _her_.

Silently, Mu checked himself out in the mirror once more, running his hands down his body, straightening out any possible creases in the new suit.

The closed collar scratched at his throat and the cuffs itched his wrists. Though he wanted so much to just change it—open it a bit here, shift a bit there—but he couldn't.

Venting his annoyance, he snatched up his old uniform from the ground and threw it at the bed. His eyes narrowed as he watched the clothes hit the wall then slide down to his mattress. His hands clenched, watching.

His hair falling before his eyes opened another problem he'd like much not to deal with. He may have looked okay for the ship, but for a transfer it was horrendous.

Mu ran a comb through his thick hair with a weak scowl—he'd given up on even trying to smile.

Because that's the way things are.

Mu noted the officer's cap resting in the far corner of the room. The one Murrue had brought up and set there.

He smiled at that.

He had his own somewhere, one he'd had sent over, but he'd lost it somewhere about the ship. He guessed it might have been in his locker beside his flight suit. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling he'd thrown it in there at one point.

It didn't matter, though. Like he'd told Murrue the night before, the next pilot they had, _he_'d get that suit—and the cap too.

For the time being, though, Mu satisfied himself with the generic cap she gave him though he had to struggle to put and keep it on his head.

There _was_ a reason he never wore his after all.

The time was nearing to go and all that was left was to zip up his duffel and leave. Mu hated the fact that it all seemed so simple.

But that's just the way things are.

He crossed the room deciding that there was no use in waiting around any longer. It was time to go. Time to leave . . . everything.

Mu's blue eyes widened when he saw inside the duffel he was trying to close. He'd forgotten—he had put those three picture frames inside of it too. Each picture held another memory. One was regulation style, another was a fun group picture of the crew and the third—someone had surprised him with a candid photo, the good thing was that it had Murrue in it and she was smiling—because of him.

Such good memories that he had to leave behind.

Awhile back, Mu had run into a problem like this one, but no where near as wrenching. It taught him the importance of double pictures. With a half-smile, Mu stationed the frames and their pictures on the table—a bit more of himself to leave behind. The doubles he slid into his bag, a bit more of them to bring with him.

When that duffel bag zipped shut, the sound led to the heaviest silence of all.

It was time.

As he left the second time, Mu LaFlaga paused to look back over his room—The quarters that welcomed him when he first appeared on the big ship. There were picture frames in the corner and a crumpled uniform thrown lazily onto the unmade bed.

It looked like he'd be right back, like he just left the place for five minutes at most.

But the truth in reality was that he wouldn't be 'right back'. He wouldn't even be 'back'.

He would be gone.

Transferred away, never to see the Archangel or its crew or its _Captain_ ever again.

As the lights closed on that messy, little room and the door shut, sealing it tightly away, Mu's stubborn mind had to ask again:

_Why?_

And that was just the way things were.

* * *

**AN**: The biggest problem with this was that Mu came aboard the Archangel in his Zero after his other ship was destroyed way, way back in the beginning, so naturally he wouldn't have anything else with him _besides_ his flight suit—_and_ when he left at Alaska he had a huge duffel and cap that he dropped _at_ the base so nothing irreplaceable could've been there too. Plus, when he came back, he had his flight suit ready and waiting for him . . . 

(Oh, and in theGS OVA and in Destiny, Murrue had his cap, so if it was lost at Alaska, where'd the other one come from? (Because, for it to have meaningit can't just be an extra cap--it has to be _his_ cap) Get it?)

Anyway, so this was how I made it all work somehow.


End file.
